


Ruminations

by LynMars79



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Heavensward, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Short blurbs, Stormblood, Unnamed WoL, a realm reborn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Various short prompt responses and blurbs collected in one place. Skips around, spoilers up through the end of Stormblood likely.





	1. Home

It was strange; she’d initially hated Mor Dhona.

It was a ruined, blasted land, covered in rusting Garlean tech and corrupted crystals. Fog often covered the landscape in a gloomy haze. The Keeper of the Lake and Syrcus Tower loomed over everything, bitter reminders of horrors past. Cold winds often blew off the hills of Coerthas to the north–or the smell of ash rolled in from Carteneau to the south.

And yet.

When the sun came out on a clear day, and one stood on the new, strong walls of Revenant’s Toll, the land showed hints of its former pastoral self. Flowers and trees still bloomed in meadows, around wreckage, across rocky formations, and spilled out of the Tangle, slowly reclaiming what they had lost. The crystal formations shimmered in the light, scattering rainbows across one’s vision. The water danced around the _Agrius’_ corpse and the shell the ancient dragon had left behind. The Tower gleamed, looking like the promise it still meant to fulfill, someday; someday, when the last Student of Baldesion awoke from his long slumber and stepped out into the renewed landscape.

She leaned on a stonework rail and looked out over Mor Dhona. Behind and below, the Toll bustled and buzzed: children playing, merchants hawking wares, adventurers shouting to one another in laughing tones, music playing in the Seventh Heaven. She smiled.

It was a pretty good place to call home, after all.


	2. In Dreams

What would be considered cold anywhere else in the realm was downright balmy in Coerthas, with the wind blowing the scent of fresh pines off the mountains as the pair dropped onto a rock cleared of snow and almost warm in the sunlight. She huffed after their exertions, rolling her shoulder to ease the ache from a sword blow. 

Her companion laughed. “Splendid! I daresay I shall be sore for a week after that sparring session! Truly, my friend, you are magnificent.”

She eyerolled, but couldn’t help a grin. “Flatterer. Not so bad yourself. Definitely improved your shield work.” Something nagged at the back, bottom of her mind, but she couldn’t place it, so chose to ignore it.

“It’s a struggle to keep up with one such as you, and an honor,” he said, that smile still crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Though I am pleased you come to visit at all.”

“Of course I do,” she replied. There was a strange hollow sound to her words, as if they were said from far away, instead of her own lips. “You’re never far.”

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, looking off across the chasm to the city, glimmering too brightly in the sunlight. “In dreams, one can never be far at all.”

“Why’d you say it?” She asked. He smiled at her again, sadder this time, and then she realized what rock she stood before, alone, as the wind picked up into a howl…

She opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. Outside the wind moaned through the fragments of Mor Dhona, in low, mournful tones, echoing the fading memory of the dream.


	3. Trusted

She stared at the grinning figure across the battlement. The phantom pull of restraints itched at her wrists. Cries of rage and grief and fear through the chamber echoed in her ears. Her breath felt short–from the battle up the wall, or from the recollection of running, as a group, then a handful, and then emerging alone…?

Below, screams and explosions mingled, and her heart could no longer hold back the roiling tide. “They trusted you! We trusted you!”

The Griffin mocked them, lost in his madness, and completed his final betrayal.


	4. Courage

Whenever she was in the North Shroud, she inevitably found herself drawn to the place where the duskwight had fallen.

She never understood why he saw her as a rival. Perhaps it was more of a focus for his rage, his pain, all the negativity he couldn’t get past, all of the hardship he’d endured and been hardened by.

They had tried. They just hadn’t known how to really help him.

And he hadn’t wanted the help, honestly. Without that desire, any attempt to reach out was doomed to fail.

She still remembered the look on his face, the anger turning to fear, in a man who had tried so hard to be fearless—not understanding how fear really worked to keep one alive, to make one fight harder, faster, better, lest the worst happen.

Courage wasn’t fearlessness. And it took no courage to cause harm for the sake of harm. It had been fear for the harm he would cause to others and himself that had driven her to accept his challenge that day.

While the Calamity had been surrounded in death, his was the first she felt responsible for.

She left a lily on the edge of the cliff. She hoped that somewhere, somehow, he had finally found peace and acceptance.


	5. Fooled

This was supposed to be a happy reunion.

She’d spied, fought, haggled, lied, and finally snuck into an Imperial bloody castrum to save her friends, so they could bring the light of hope back to the realm, together, to stop the Black Wolf and his Allagan horror. The mission had been a success, and the Alliance leaders reassured. Everything was on track for Operation Archon.

All she could think about was the Ascian laughing from behind that stolen face.

She thought of Stone Vigil, and how the Ascian had to have been wearing him then. How aware was the bard, trapped in his own skin?

All she knew was that the eyes looking up at them were not his. Same shape, same color, but all wrong. Not him. None of that was him.

It was just very good at pretending. How long had it been fooling them?

She thought of the haunted look in his eyes after Ifrit, the muttered resolution to do better, apologizing over and over for events outside either of their control—he’d have just been tempered, too, after all. Was that the last time she’d seen the real archon?

The others had their ideas and theories. How he’d pushed himself, and worn himself down until he was ripe for the Ascian’s scheming. It had been going on for a while, before she’d even joined the Scions. She wasn’t responsible for him pushing himself, for his feelings of responsibility.

So why did she feel so guilty?

Someone called her name; the Flames were ready for her. She pushed off the wall she'd been leaning on and strode for the door. She paused as she passed Minfilia.

"We'll get him back," she said quietly. She didn't wait for the Antecedent's response before leaving.

She hoped she was right.


	6. Shells

Is it possible to pity a monster?

The gleaming white armor looks crumpled, a shell devoid of what had once made it seem so impervious.

Cid’s face is difficult to read as he looks away.

I remember walking into the Waking Sands, the smell of blood and offal strong in my nostrils. The familiar faces looked strange and unreal, twisted in pain or anger or both, their bodies splayed across the floor.

Crumpled shells.

The Imperial bodies scattered throughout confirmed some fears. They’d been left behind—who did that? How many were conscripts, forced to fight? Would their families ever know their fates?

_Later, later, find the archons, find the Antecedent…_

I found Noraxia.

The sylph’s memories showed me the tribunus’ cruelty, her callousness, her utter disregard. She took the “worthy” hostages and left the rest dying or dead.

She tortured my friends.

Now, in the Castrum, she cries out for van Baelsar, sounding like a little girl crying for a parent (later I learn more about them, and my disgust for the Black Wolf only grows).

I can’t forgive what she did to us; orders or not, act of war or not.

But I can feel sorry for a little girl twisted into a monster by an even worse one.


	7. A Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another short prompt response.

She awoke to the sun’s ray beaming into her west-facing room as the afternoon heat pressed over Vesper Bay. She hadn’t drawn the curtains before falling onto her bed, still fully clothed, sometime in the early hours of the morning.

There was movement and voices outside, other Scions going about their day. There was still a lot of cleanup and repairs to do, now that everyone was home.

 _Home_. She smiled, listening to the muffled sounds while dust motes danced in the shafts of light falling across her bed. The Scions were rebuilding; while they’d lost many, others survived, and new recruits were on the way.

The realm was safe–for now. There would no doubt be more challenges in the future, the primals could still be resummoned, the Garlean Empire still loomed…

But for now, with the smell of salty air wafting in through the window, the sunlight turning a deeper orange-gold through the panes, and her friends laughing in the next room, the Warrior of Light could just be herself and enjoy this brief moment.


	8. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been sitting on this one awhile. Random thoughts concerning the shift from ARR to HW.

The silence bothers me the most.

What had Minfilia heard, in that tunnel, in those moments? Why had Hydaelyn not spoken to me, not shown me how to save the others…

Why had I run? Even battered by…those traitors, even weak from what little of the wine I’d drank (a different poison to make me manageable, or was it the dosage difference between myself and Nanamo? _Don’t think about it, about the Sultana’s small body falling to the ground, like a flower suddenly cut from its stem_ ), a few Brass Blades and Crystal Braves and Sultansworn and--well, all right, even a Warrior of Light could be overwhelmed. And Ilberd had defeated Raubahn…

I sigh, push back the blanket, swing my legs to the floor, stretching as I stand. I leave the makeshift room I claimed and cross the intercessory to the fireplace. A few pokes and a new log, and the fire crackles warmly again, contrasting the howl of wind outside.

The clocks chime midnight. Tataru and Alphinaud sleep on; they need it.

I stare into the dancing flames, holding my dulled Water Crystal, and try.

To hear.  
To feel.  
To think.

Silence.

I recall the vision of the darkened crystal, at the celebration after the defeat of van Baelsar. Before the primal’s roar. Can the Mother answer? Is She drowned out? Was it the ancient dragon’s doing, when he darkened my light and bound himself to me?

Minfilia heard, and obeyed. Is she safe? Are Y’shtola and Thancred alive? Yda and Papalymo? F’lhaminn, Hoary, Coultenet? How many others are missing, or imprisoned—or shared poor Wilred’s fate?

At least Urianger and those who help him in the Waking Sands are nominally safe. Defenses of our former headquarters had been much improved after the Imperial raid. There was no protecting the Rising Stones from such a betrayal. I just pray it wasn’t so bloody as before.

I sit on the rug—a woolly monstrosity from gods know where—knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Alone in a circle of light from the fire.

Why is She silent?

What did Minfilia hear?

There’s a deep rumble inside my mind, like a growling purr. I feel/see coils of shifting scales, the adjusting of wings, in darkness that hides all but the sensation of weighted ages. _Rest_ , he says.

I put my Crystal away. I prod the fire a few more times before standing and returning to my bed. I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m obeying.

Maybe someday I can ask Minfilia what she heard. When we find her and the others.

Tomorrow we finally cross the Steps of Faith. Tomorrow we shall be in Ishgard.

Perhaps the city can fill the silence.


	9. Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends talking.

“I feel selfish, and weak.”

“You are not either of those things, Alphinaud.”

“Others suffer setbacks, loss. So much more than I have, and often without the privilege I was born into, as has oft been pointed out.”

“It’s not a contest. Pain and loss just _are_ , and everyone has a threshold.”

“But I have caused—“

“Look, it’s like glasses at a bar. A potent liquor in a small shot glass can have the same effect as ale in a large tankard. Everyone’s got their own glass, they’re just all different sizes. Pain’s the drink. Everyone’s got their limit, based on what their glass can hold.”

“But no F’lhaminn to cut us off. The glass keeps getting refilled.”

“Sometimes, yeah.” 

“And in that case one simply gets worse and worse until—“

“I never said it was a perfect analogy, it’s just what came to mind. This is why I just usually smile and nod, you know.”

“Ha! Touche, my friend.  ...I miss them.”

“I do, too.”

“I feel like I took their presence for granted, whilst swanning across the realm—“

“Alphinaud.”

“I know, I know—“

“I don’t think you do. So listen; you made mistakes, yes. Trusted the wrong people—we all did. Hells, I believed Laurentius when he said he wanted a fresh start. Maybe he believed it then, too, I dunno, but he made a choice. So did those others. You, and poor Nanamo, were manipulated by men older, more experienced, and far more ruthless than expected—because you want to see the good in people. You want to live by your grandfather’s beliefs about helping others. ‘Twas some few others who took advantage of that. Their choices. Their actions. By all means, grieve; but don’t blame yourself for that which you could not control,”

“I fear it will take me time to feel that.”

“It works like that sometimes. Just need to lay it out there first. Small steps.”

“Thank you. For listening. And...saying more than usual.”

“You’re welcome, but now I need a drink.”

“I bet if you asked Lord Haurchefant, he’d make more cocoa.”

“I bet you’re right. I’ll go ask. If you wipe that smirk off your face, I might bring you a mug, as well.”

“I am not smirking. Just smiling because I am glad that you have such a good friend.”

“Uh-huh. I shall return.”

“You always do.”


	10. Do It For Gilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlocking the Fractal Continuum because your adorable lalafel engineer buddy asked sweetly? Sounds about right.

Why in the seven hells don’t they just let the boy have a bloody dog?

Ah well. There are worse pets—I suppose—than an old Allagan node. And honestly, who could say no to Wedge when he is being so damnably cute about an artificial intelligence and babbling about mechanical things that are going _way_ over my head?

Well, besides Biggs. And Jessie. And Cid.

I just need to have a talk with the Ironworks team, I think.

Regardless, _someone_ has to keep Wedge out of trouble, which of course defaults to _me_ keeping him out of trouble. Gods know he might just try to sneak into the Fractal Continuum himself to find what he wants otherwise.

And Gilly did help quite a bit, and does deserve better than deactivation for want of a working power source.

So, here I go again, I suppose. I will find some tomestones or something for Rowena while I’m at it, so I can claim a practical reason for this venture.

Let’s be honest, though, at least with ourselves:

The Warrior of Light is going into an old Allagan warship-turned-museum to help a friend fix his pet node, that I also grew somewhat fond of while crossing this hellscape.

Hydaelyn’s Grace, I really am a softie.


	11. Pray Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of other departures and communications, versus the situation post-Castrum Fluminis (spoilers through 4.3 content).

“You know,” I said, before leaving the Solar. “You gave me this linkpearl, ostensibly to talk when afield. Did I truly have to return for this?” I tried to keep my tone light; it would not do to insult the Antecedent, after all.

She of course did not take it as an offense, laughing a little at my teasing indignation. “‘Tis true, I did. And they do connect you with the other Scions as well. But, truth be told, for all their convenience...I dislike using them.”

I just looked at her, crossing my arms and lifting a brow, trying not to smile in response to her cheerful expression.

“I would much rather speak to someone face to face. It is simply...easier. Especially when that someone tends to speak with facial expressions, posture, and a stoic nod of their head, more than their voice,” she teased.

I gave her a pout, and she outright giggled.

“Worry not, my friend. I shall try not to call you home too often whilst on your adventures.”

I just shook my head. “So you say.” I bowed and made my way out; I had a job to do.

I was halfway to Horizon when the linkpearl chirped, and then her voice came into my ear: “Pray return to the Waking Sands,” she said, with a giggle.

I could not help but laugh in response as well--and then I turned off the linkshell for a while.

**~******~**

> _“‘Tis a strange feeling. So many times have I watched you depart, my heart filled with worry, and ever did you return to me in triumph.”_

Her words seem to echo in these suddenly too-large halls.

The Rising Stones feel empty; many are still in Gyr Abania, keeping tabs on the Ananta, or scattered elsewhere around the realm checking on other beast tribes. The Domans, of course, are all back home now and rebuilding their nation.

Tataru is still in Kugane, and now Y’shtola is en route. They will have a lovely time in the port city before her rendezvous with Yugiri to cross the Ruby Sea.

Krile is also far away to the east, handling the mystery of Eureka; I hope she finally gets answers about her people.

Thancred is...gods only know where by now, heading into the Empire. I want him to find Alphinaud, and stick to the boy’s side like glue--or drag him home; that would work too, and make Alisaie stop pacing and growling about the premises.

She is not the only one worried for her brother. I simply cannot shake this bad feeling, that I dare not share with her.

I make my way to the Solar. Unukalhai is not studying inside; he is working on something with Urianger, I think. Just as well, though it is one more not present.

I find myself tracing the edge of the desk, and walking around to the chair.

Her chair.

None of us have had the heart to replace her furniture, repurpose the space, or use her desk. Nevermind how Alphinaud--much as he protests his role in our group--would find it more convenient.

Were he here.

We are so scattered, even the linkshell is not reliable for communications--and for some of our number, far too dangerous to use currently.

She had never liked using linkpearls, anyway, convenient as they are.

> _“Someday, when I have found a way to free this star from Her sorrow, I promise you I shall repay the favor.”_

I am not usually the one left behind, waiting.

I stare at the chair, wishing she was there. Wishing the rest of them were gathered on the other side of the desk, safe and sound.

I find myself whispering in the heavy emptiness of the Solar.

“Pray return to the Rising Stones.”


	12. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post-4.3 tumblr prompt! Features some of our favorite red mages (that are not cats).

Arya clattered into the Rising Stones, waving to various Scions hailing her as she made a beeline for Alisaie, sulking at the receptionist desk.

“C’mon. We’re going outside,” Arya declared.

Alisaie looked up warily. “…Why…?”

“Because it’s the first clear evening in a sennight and we should enjoy it.” Arya spun around and pointed at me; I had thought I had escaped notice. “You’re coming too!”

I looked at Alisaie and shrugged as I stood. “She’s got a point.”

“Does she?” Alisaie replied, the slightest hint of acid in her tone. But she stood to follow; sometimes my influence on the twins can be useful, which is likely what Arya was banking on.

Arya led us out of the Rising Stones, through the Seventh Heaven, and out into the square. It was a clear, lovely night, after several days of rain and Mor Dhona’s particular aetheric gloom. “The view from the top of the tower should be amazing,” Arya said, heading for one of the stairways leading up the walls, drawing us with her.

“I have work I could be doing,” Alisaie sighed as she climbed the stairs after Arya.

“It can wait another day, Alisaie. Even X’rhun would be closing your books and shooing you out the door.”

“And since he is not here, you are taking up that duty?” There was a hint of teasing now in Alisaie’s tone; good.

“Indeed!” Arya said cheerfully.

I let the girls banter as I found a spot on the parapet to lean on, gazing up at the nighttime sky. The moon was naught more than a sliver, a shooting star falling by, a lone cloud floating past.

I wondered if I could ever again look up at the moon without that strange, dull ache I had felt since Castrum Fluminis.

I turned my attention instead to the stars, uncountable in the sky, some near enough to connect and name as constellations. We picked them out; the Spire, the Arrow, the Spear. We gossipped about the citizens of the Toll. We bemoaned the cost of our favorite treats in the local markets, imported as they were from across the realm. We discussed magical and martial theory, and gave Arya a few pointers as she struggled to retrain her own skills.

We were, really, just three friends having a good time together–not the ones left behind to wait.

Eventually a guard wandered by on his rounds, mentioning that F’lhammin had expressed concerns about us staying out too late and catching chill, which Alisaie responded to by lighting a flame in her hand. The guard shook his head with a grin and continued on, as we laughed.

“He is right, though; we really should start to head inside; it’s near midnight,” Alisaie said, letting out a sigh. It sounded content. “…Thank you.”

Arya smiled. “Thank _you_ , for indulging me. Both of you.” She looked at me and winked.

I nodded, and ushered both the girls down the stairs. Arya waved as she returned to her own small room, while Alisaie and I continued to the Rising Stones.

Someday soon, I hoped, X’rhun’s students would simply go stargazing for the fun of it, and not as a needed distraction.


	13. Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt. The Dark Knight Journal entries are some of my favorites; the writing team (at least in the EN version) goes all out.

You have always been so diligent about keeping up your journal, chronicling your adventures. It is mostly for yourself, but perhaps someday, some historian will look on the words you wrote and know who the infamous Warrior of Light truly was.

There will be some entries that puzzle those future scholars. Anything having to do with Hildibrand Manderville, for instance.

And then there are the entries that stop sounding like you wrote them. A sarcastic tone, bloodthirsty declarations, a conversation occurring between yourself and the page.

You do not remember writing these entries.

The handwriting is, and yet is not, your own.

Everything became so much clearer after Whitebrim. You considered removing those pages, rewriting the tale now that you had stopped lying to yourself–but no. Your journal chronicles your tale as it unfolds, and that would be disingenuous, to yourself most of all. You do this so you will always remember.

Besides, it was over now, wasn’t it?

Until the day your dark red soul crystal cracks. Until the child with his eyes and her hair appears, begging your aid, and you have no choice as it is your aether the child has stolen with this strange power he claims to wield to help others.

You and your companions travel with the child, seeking to give aid and succor to those he deems need it most. It’s not always successful.

It always involves someone you know, someone touched by the violent trail of your adventures.

One night, you find yourself back in Rhalgr’s Reach, your companions far away, the child despondent. You sit down with your journal to catch up.

You do not remember writing these entries.

The handwriting is, and yet is not, your own.

The conversation continues.

_I’m trying to warn you, you bloody fool._


	14. Tomorrow

The tower gleams, casting scintillating shadows over the ruined landscape, refracting off the skeletal wings and rusting metal of the Keeper. The tower’s reflection glistens in the water, making it seem as if Allag’s dream stretches on forever.

Rammbroes raises a hand in greeting; Cid, Biggs, and Wedge are already here. Even Nero is skulking off to the side, pretending he isn't just as invested. They have all been waiting on the last member of NOAH to arrive.

You return the wave, and as a group you make your way down the ancient, ruined road, past the rubble of the watchers you dismantled, all the while laughing and joking, catching up on news, gossip, each others’ lives, the most recent findings of the Sons of St Coinach, Nero making his typical snide remarks.

As you pass through the silent labyrinth, however, the laughter fades, the words die out. The Ironworks crew begin double checking their gear, going over their lists. You and Rammbroes follow along, the tension stifling any potential contributions.

The sealed door looms over all of you, the figures carved in the surface causing a pang of remembrance, of two clones--two _friends_ \--lost in the Darkness, to end their forebears’ madness.

“Here goes nothing,” Cid says, as he and Nero finish attaching the last nodes. Wedge flips the switch and presses the button. Behind him, Biggs crosses his fingers.

There is an impressive flare of lights, you all hold in a breath--and then there are sparks, and everything fizzles, then goes dark, the machinery drained.

Again.

Wedge mutters his favorite curses and kicks the offending tech. Cid shakes his head. Nero rants about his perfect calculations and how it must be someone else's fault. Biggs just silently begins to pack the gear.

Rammbroes sighs and offers you a weary smile. You let out your own breath and give him one of your famous stoic nods.

You will not be seeing your slumbering friend today, and tomorrow is still such a long way off.


	15. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Warrior of Light

**Do** take every opportunity to upgrade your arms and armor; it could mean the difference between life and death.

**Don’t** short the local merchants, aetheryte minders, or healers; they keep you stocked, moving, and healthy.

**Do** watch your party members’ backs, because they ought to be watching yours, and it’s the best way for everyone to make it out alive.

**Don’t** shift blame. Accept your screw ups, learn from them, and move on.

**Do** accept compliments; sometimes the memory of a kind word is the best defense one has against the doubts that run rampant, especially after dark.

**Don’t** ignore the young, the old, the infirm, the servants; they see and hear more than most realize, and can be your best resources and dearest friends.

**Do** show proper respect to the regional gods and traditions, even if you don’t believe in or understand them. The locals will appreciate your respect and besides--you never know.

**Don’t** cross Rowena. It just isn’t worth it.

**Do** stick it to the Monetarists at every opportunity, even if you have to work with Lolorito from time to time. Begrudgingly. If Her Impetuousness can learn to play along, so can you.

**Don’t** forget the little jobs and side projects. Those people are counting on you too. Gods only knows what trouble the Ironworks would get into without you, for instance.

**Do** remember to take time for yourself and your friends, though. Outside of work, missions, worry, stress. Everyone needs a break, time to relax, to just be.

**Don’t** fall in love. With found family, with dear friends, with partners. They worship you, or are jealous of you, and it isn’t healthy. They think they aren’t worthy of you, as if you’re on some godsdamned pedestal. Too often they sacrifice themselves for you, because you’re supposedly so bloody important. As if they aren’t; as if they aren’t your light, as if they aren’t your reason for doing all these things, as if it doesn’t rip your heart out every time you lose someone else, the names an increasing list of pain and failure and you can _almost_ understand a thousand years of grief and rage.

**Do** break the last rule--as often as possible.


	16. What Happens on the Steppe...Gets Shared Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between the WoL and a former Scion who completely understands why a situation is so darn amusing. Spoilers for 4.4 Prelude in Violet. No angst!

“You are putting me on!”

“I swear by all the gods and kami, Lyse, I am not. You can ask our Lord of Doma when he arrives--or ask Y’shtola yourself.”

“No thanks! But she really did that?”

“She did, and it was great.”

“And in front of _Sadu_!”

“You think you’re laughing; ‘twas as if Nhaama herself had delivered the khatun a gift.”

“Ohh, I bet!”

“Of course, that angered Our Most Radiant Brother all over, and they set to fighting once more.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Y’shtola decided we had wasted enough time there, and simply...walked right through them.”

“Completely poised and graceful, I bet.”

“Of course.”

“How does she _do_ that?”

“She’s...Y’shtola. Fair certain she can do anything, honestly.”

“I have heard some of the propositions she’s gotten over the years, and her responses are _always_ cutting, but _this_...I wish I had seen his face myself!”

“If I could use the Echo to show you, I would.”

“I’m sorry I missed the trip to the Steppe. It would have been nice visit with Cirina, at least.”

“She and Grandmother send their love, of course. And buuz. We’ve got it packed in ice crystals to keep for you. Not as nice as having it fresh, but--”

“I’ll take it! _Little sun_. Gods, I’m going to randomly giggle about that all through the meeting and everyone’s going to wonder what’s wrong with me.”

“You and me both, Lyse. You and me both.”


	17. Leaving

They were words never said out loud, but she felt them regardless, even if she could not understand why they were necessary.

Crouching by the battered General on the sandy, rust-stained ring in Halatali, she thought about the last time she had seen him, wild and broken, his blood flowing free. She had realized later, in the carriage, that it had spattered and stained on her jacket. She had tried to keep his son from noticing, though he could not have known whose blood it was.

She wanted to apologize, for following his command, for leaving him to face the traitors alone while she had run.

“On your feet, gladiator,” she said instead. This time, at least, they could take him somewhere safe.

Sometimes the words were a promise for later, even if they stuck in her throat.

***~***

She watched the pair banter, and couldn’t help a smile. Part of her heart relaxed, seeing them both here, now, in the dusty foothills of the Smoldering Wastes.

Part of her heart still ached at how much they had been changed, since her last glimpse of them in that tunnel.

She wanted to apologize for listening to them, for the light and the explosive rumble of the cave-in, for the desperate, dangerous spell.

For the look in the rogue’s visible eye, as he looked for the one he expected--and wanted most--to see, but who was also, still, missing.

Her fault.

Sometimes she wondered who was really left behind.

***~***

“You orchestrated all of this not to save her, but to send her away!?”

He sounded so much like the boy he was in this moment. The Word’s gentle reassurance did naught to ease the ache in her own heart.

Then another voice spoke up, entirely expected.

“...You would go alone then?”

_No!_ She wanted to cry out. _Not you too!_ It would be too much to lose. But she knew, if the Word but nodded, he would go without hesitation--and she could not blame him.

But even he was left with them, in the sand and heat of Thanalan once more, the Word and her counterpart gone to the star swallowed by Light.

She was not sure if hearing similar words, instead of saying them, made them hurt less or more.

***~***

The boy ran, urged on by the shinobi. The masked girl kicked and screamed against the rogue bearing her away.

Her friend looked up. “This is one battle you cannot fight. Away with you. Go!”

She shook her head. _No_. No more; she would not leave another behind.

His spell struck and lifted, and she felt the whisper in the aether, _I’m sorry_.

Who had left who behind?

Watching the other girl straining against the rail as the light filled the sky and sealed the beast, she knew they were not the ones doing the leaving.


	18. Jealous Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Tumblr prompt about expressing jealousy that went a little sideways, as they often do.

She grit her teeth and took one more swing with her weapon. The ogre fell with a drawn-out groan into the snow. She stood, puffing and panting in the cold air, realizing that all was now silent.

She took what she had sought from the fallen gang of beasts, leaving their bodies cooling along the remnants of the old Vigil wall as she hurried past Menphina’s Mark. The wind whipped her coat about her legs as she reached the other, smaller marker overlooking the chasm and the city beyond.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered as she returned the broken shield to its rightful place. She used the spell Coultenet had given her to hold it in place, protected against the elements and, gods willing, anymore thefts by local wildlife.

She spent the next half bell or so trying to calm herself and the anger boiling inside her. Trying to relax her jaw and not grind her teeth. Stretching her fingers and cracking knuckles to not clench fists. Rolling her shoulders, doing a few squats–he would have found the last amusing.

This was why it was important to check, every few weeks when she could. It had been difficult recently, with so many long trips to the Far East; hence the ogres’ thieving. They were getting bold, now that the hostilities with the dragons had died down. It wasn’t as if young Francel could keep an eye on the memorial by himself, and Emmanellain had his hands full monitoring the Ixal…

No, she’d just have to continue keeping on eye on the point herself.

It was only right, after he had spent so much time watching out for her.


	19. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random thoughts that popped into mind early in the morning. End of Heavensward 3.0 MSQ spoilers.

The sunset drowns the islands in gold and pink. Even on this blighted landscape it is a lovely sight--that makes my heart ache.

It shall be some time, I think, before I can enjoy a sunset again, without thinking of the Vault’s cold walls filled with fire, the lance of light, the pain and the grief.

_I will kill all of them._

The venom of that thought is comforting. Violence is familiar. Dealing death is familiar. _They deserve this._

In the depths of the Abyss, a tiny voice of Light asks “Do they?”

If what I saw in the Vault was true, they have been taken by the primals they summoned unto themselves. Ysayle has-- _had_ \--the protection of the Echo. The archbishop and his knights do not. They are not the men they once were, shall never be again. They must be put down to prevent the spread of this particular disease.

...Gods, that sounded like Ser Charibert.

But it’s the truth, isn’t it? I do what must be done. I am a Scion of the Seventh Dawn. I am the Warrior of Light. Even the rule of law is on my side.

I know what’s become of them, and so many things make sense now; the Archbishop had long ago admitted to courting the Ascians, but who could have thought he was using their schemes to fuel his own ambitions, to do such things?

No wonder the Horde was suddenly on a rampage, after a thousand years of cat-and-mouse. The dragons know all too well how this works, how dangerous this is. That power in the hands of mortals, used against them?

I look back over my shoulder even as we land on the Flagship. Tiamat is a distant point, bound in chains she could easily break by now, had she the will. Were she not still consumed by her grief and guilt, the horrors brought upon the world by her own thirst for vengeance.

I flex my hands, clenched painfully into fists. I turn toward the entrance to the research facility and Gilly’s gently floating form.

******

I do what must be done. I watch them break into aether, their bodies consumed by the primal forces they had summoned.

I feel nothing. Where is the satisfaction, the peace, the easing of this pain howling and gnawing at my chest ever since--

The banquet, really. It was just held in check, until sunset at the Vault.

The Archbishop is a frightened, frail old man, confused by his defeat. “Who-- _What_ are you?!”

I am a Scion of the Seventh Dawn. I am the Warrior of Light. I am--

Not finished. Never finished, as the Shade takes my friend.

“What hath thy fury made of thee…?” My companion asks, mournful. He addresses his son, but I am the one present to feel the words’ sting.

I spare one last glance at the cold, empty arena. Vengeance, justice, it all swirls around my head as we fly back to Ishgard.

There’s so much more to be done; for the city upended by the Church’s age of betrayal, for Estinien and Nidhogg, for my missing comrades.

I meet with Alphinaud and Tataru at the memorial erected for our dear friend, overlooking his beloved home. The wind whips at us, the day cold despite the clear, sunny sky.

I am tired.


End file.
